Broken Promises
by CleotheDreamer
Summary: Tony Stark is no stranger to pain, but this? This is new. After watching Peter die, Tony's defenses crumble. With his heart in pieces, he's not sure he can move forward. Post-Infinity War grief. OR, the one where Tony Stark cares. (Rated for mild language and themes of death.)


Tony Stark was a stone-cold billionaire without love. Tony Stark didn't let people in. Tony Stark didn't cry, he didn't _feel_ , he didn't – he…

The hands holding the kid – the _boy –_ stared accusingly at him. Ashes hiding in the cracks of his weathered palms like a permanent stain on his skin mocking him.

 _Of course, he did._

His eyes glazed over with stinging tears. He wasn't supposed to care, nobody expected it of him, it wasn't something people even knew he could do.

But he _did_.

Tony Stark _cared_ , goddammit, and the only thing he really did was pretend that he didn't. His friends didn't know him, his heart was closed off, but he _cared_ _so goddamn much about them_. And he made sure nobody noticed.

But Peter – the kid, _his kid_ – he noticed. He saw right through him, and they _both cared_ about each other.

But he was gone, just dust in the wind. And it was like a wave of bitter irony because _of course_ the people he let in to his heart would leave, would _die_ – no, no, no he couldn't think that.

But what else could he think when the damning ashes of the kid stained his hand.

Why was he left here with the shattered remains of his broken heart?

Was he being punished?

He never wanted to care, he never wanted it to get this far, but Peter was special. Peter was everything and more. He was better than the best of them.

He was the future – the world.

But it was all gone, twisting around in dusty vortexes through the orange atmosphere of Titan.

Peter was gone.

So what could Tony Stark do but sob brokenly; his emotions taking hold like they hadn't before. Brain still in shock and careening him towards madness, towards denial, because this was grief, wasn't it? The truest and most primal grief he'd ever known.

It was guilt and self-focused anger because at least his parent's death wasn't _his_ fault.

(And this was all his fault, wasn't it?)

It was a sadness so suffocating he choked on laughter that spewed past his lips for no apparent reason.

Why was he laughing again?

(He wasn't supposed to care.)

It was with an air of desperation that he scrabbled on the ground, hysterically clawing for the dust of the ki- _his_ kid. He gathered as much as he could in his hands but the tiny particles fell through his fingers like fine sand. It slipped through like it was a promise he could not keep.

Because it was, wasn't it?

He didn't keep his promise; he couldn't keep him safe. It was all his fault and he couldn't keep him safe.

He choked again.

What was this?

Tony Stark? Caring?

But hadn't he always…

He could have spent hours there or it might have been minutes, he truly couldn't tell. He could have spent years more, but they would have been years without _him_ and it would have been too agonizing to acknowledge. So he pushed himself to his feet with a strength he was surprised he had and stumbled towards… something – he did not know.

There was a blue android watching him with something unreadable on her face. When she saw him watching, her lip curled back in disgust, but it seemed pained.

He remembered her crashing a ship into the monster and laughed. At least someone on his side survived.

He was cackling now, and it felt so out of place, so maddening that he was beginning to feel insane.

But the anger rushing through his veins was boiling and the idea of hurting Thanos sounded so appealing at that moment, that it drowned out the concern for his sanity. It turned into a promise pounding in his heart.

A promise he would keep.

They spent the next few days on a ship through space.

Any other day and Tony would have spent his time tinkering through the ship and exploring its parts, but the idea of moving through his grief sounded nauseating. He tried one day, in the hopes of repairing the blasters and improving the speed, but he broke down halfway through, plagued by memories of the laughter of Peter in his labs and the empty space beside him became suffocating.

He would laugh again at the irony that _the_ Tony Stark had gotten so used to having Peter's company, that without him, life felt hollow.

Tony Stark was supposed to thrive off of loneliness.

Tony Stark was supposed to build machines all night long instead of coping.

(Tony Stark wasn't supposed to _care_.)

But, for the first time in his life, he couldn't build a single thing, he couldn't repair anything, and he couldn't fix the stupid mess that the universe was in.

Tony Stark did not have the controls and he felt _empty._

The blue robot scoffed at his mourning, angrily telling him to get over himself, that 'we all lost someone', but he couldn't bring himself to care.

For once in his life, he was glad there was no alcohol for light years or he would have drowned himself in it by now.

He was unsure whether the rest of the world – the _universe_ – experienced the strange disappearances, but he assumed they did. He still couldn't bring himself to care.

(Except for the small voice at night that reminded him of Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and that they could all be gone too. He ignored it with a vengeance.)

He bandaged himself mechanically and walked the ship brokenly, but beyond that, Tony Stark was a ghost.

The blue robot, Nebula, flew the ship, but she was hardly an incredible pilot. They set course for Earth in the hopes that some of the superheroes would still be alive and able to help, but it was days away and each second without a plan made him more impatient.

He went through every word the madman said on Titan. He played the scenes through his head and analyzed them like a movie critic. The visuals and words burned in his head fueling a determination that seared like a stamp on his mind.

He was going to rip Thanos to pieces.

It was hard not to play the kid's death in his head.

It was even harder to know that he felt it.

Tony slammed his fist into the ground, viciously, uncaring if he splintered his bones or tore his skin.

His kid had felt it all, had known it was coming, and he couldn't stop a goddamned thing.

Everyone else had passed peacefully, blowing away like leaves on an Autumn wind and unknowing of their fate, but Peter knew it was happening. His body fought it and healed rapidly in response. He never hated Peter's powers any more than at that horrifying moment.

If it was ever a blessing, it was now a curse.

His knees dug into the metal floor painfully, but he would not move. Nebula was in front of him again. What was she saying?

"– get up Stark, this is pathetic. You can't bring _anyone_ back like this."

Yes, she was right. He couldn't bring him back like 'this'. He made a promise and he had to keep it.

This time, he would keep his promise.

He stood up and moved forward.

The next day, he repaired the ship's control pad and renovated the autopilot. He wove through the alien tech like a seasoned mechanic, but anyone who knew him would know he was only at half pace.

Nebula only gave him a nod in recognition before mechanically going through maintenance.

They spent a week longer on the ship before they entered Earth's atmosphere. The planet crept into their sight achingly slow, but before long they were whizzing through clouds in an attempt to enter a Wakandan safe hold.

Once they arrived, they were met with a broken army glaring menacingly at the ship as though they could destroy it with their eyes.

At the front stood Steve Rogers, and the rest of the Avengers. At the front, stood his team.

His breath hitched slightly at the sight.

Tony stumbled out of the ship brokenly, the sight of Earth pressing into his heart like a shard of shrapnel that was so achingly familiar. The sight of Earth, of _home_ , made his eyes sting for the kid lost in the air of a distant planet; the kid who couldn't come home.

It was times like these that he hated that he let Peter's ashes be swept away by the wind of a different world; that he let Peter be lost forever in a land far away.

Once he hit the ground, the Avengers rushed to him like old friends and the remnants of the Wakandan military lowered their weapons and… he was furious.

He was _so damn angry._

Couldn't they see it?

Couldn't they understand that it was too late for them to notice that he actually cared?

They had never known him and it was his fault but he was _angry_ , and _hurt_ , and _scared_.

He was scared.

He didn't want to lose them too, but to get his kid back he might have to.

And that was terrifying.

So when the hands of Steve Rogers tried to lift him, he growled and pushed away.

"Get off me, asshole."

And if the flash of hurt in his eyes stung just a little too sharp, nobody would have to know.

The room they were led to was filled with heroes, but the most obvious thing it held was sorrow.

It blanketed the air, the grief and tears a solemn and suffocating silence.

The original team was there along with a raccoon, Rhodey, and the standing Wakandan leader, Shuri.

The kid – the _child_ that reminded him too much of _him_ – was a surprisingly efficient leader. She cleared rooms for them and administered medical care that left Tony feeling like he was never stabbed at all.

The sight of Rhodey safe was like a balm for his soul; no matter how thin, it was soothing to be back in his presence.

The foreigners were sequestered away from the Wakandans and guards were placed at the door, but it was a comfort to not have to deal with too many strangers.

Though the familiarity brought a different kind of hurt.

Upon seeing Nebula, the raccoon threw himself at her in a frenzy of limbs and weapon.

" _You!_ Why are you here, you killer? Where are they? _Where are they?_ What did you do?!" he screamed, and if one looked close enough, they could see tears run through the fur on his cheeks.

Thor reacted quickly and grabbed the raccoon, holding him back as he kicked and clawed to get free.

Nebula let out an indignant hiss and snarled, "I didn't do anything. Thanos killed them, they turned to dust!"

"Liar!"

Whether Tony cared about her or not, a week and a half on a ship with someone you don't hate can form some band of comradery and loyalty. So for whatever reason, Tony huffed out an exasperated, "She's not lying," from behind her.

Every eye turned to him, questioning and curious.

"She crashed a ship into the guy, I'm pretty sure she wasn't on his side," he shrugged his shoulders, trying to fall back into his old carelessness, but the action felt stiff.

The raccoon practically bristled at his words.

"Oh yeah, and who are you? You probably helped, didn't you? You helped kill them, you traitor!"

Tony wasn't really angry before, but that was a line that couldn't be crossed.

He turned to the raccoon, the venom practically dripping from his voice, "What did you say? Did you just imply that I helped Thanos?"

He ended in a shout that held far too much emotion than he would have liked, but the others didn't seem to notice

"Yeah! I did! Do you even know who she is? She's his _daughter!_ His henchman! His soldier!"

Tony stepped back a bit. He didn't know any of that. He looked to Nebula for confirmation, but she was glaring at the Raccoon, her face tight and unreadable.

"Not anymore. I didn't help him kill the universe you idiot!"

The raccoon was in hysterics by now, his attention back on Nebula.

"They're not dead, you skank! I don't care what you say, they're not dead!"

"They're gone, Rocket! Just ashes now!"

"Do you even care that they're dead? How am I supposed to believe that you, _you,_ cared about the universe enough to save it? You don't even care about your sister!"

A knife was at his throat in an instant, but Rocket kept up his rabid attempts at murder.

"Don't you dare talk about my sister!"

"I'll kill you, you bitch! And then I'll find them, I'll find them all!"

"Do you think I care, rodent?"

"You don't!"

"You're right!"

Rocket thrashed harder, as Nebula swiveled and walked to the other side of the room angrily, sitting down with a growl.

The raccoon turned his attention back to Tony, who was watching the scene silently along with the rest.

"What are you doing here? What did you do to them? Where are they?"

"I'm going to have to ask you to be more specific there, _buddy_ ," Tony growled out.

"My friends, you bastard!"

"Not helpful!"

"Let me at him, Thor! Let me kill him! He killed them, let me at him!" the raccoon struggled harder.

"I haven't killed anyone," Tony said, knowing that the words felt hollow and untruthful, like a slimy snake settling in his stomach.

"My friends are gone, _where are they_?"

Tony was pretty sure that if Nebula knew these people had turned to dust than they had to be the stupid idiots whose ship they borrowed.

"Were they a grey guy with red tattoos, a bug girl, and an idiot from Kansas?" he asked with an air of uncaring that felt disturbingly insensitive in the room.

"You know them! What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he started angrily, then deflated, "they're gone, I'm sorry. They turned to dust."

The raccoon gazed angrily at him, as if searching for deception, before he went limp in Thor's arms, muttering over and over "They're not dead, they can't be."

Thor's grip on the rodent remained tight and unyielding, holding him close to his chest in a pseudo-hug.

He rolled his eyes at the gesture, but secretly felt jealous of the touch, almost wishing for a solid and unyielding hand to ground him.

Tony felt drained. He turned towards the others who were looking on concerned and sighed heavily. Heading towards an open couch, he plopped down with an exhausted huff and closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

It was hard to pretend he didn't care, but it was all he knew how to show. But to the others, the indecency of his insensitivity riled them. He could feel their glares and it made his skin crawl with anxiety.

" _Tony_ ," Steve hissed, " _what are you doing?"_

 _'Thinking through the death of my kid. Hearing his words ring through my head. Breaking down inside.'_

"Relaxing, thinking, not quite sure yet, actually," he replied, his voice thick at the end, betraying the levity he tried to exude. Surely, they could hear that, that he wasn't quite as okay as he seemed. Surely, they couldn't think he was alright.

"Do you not care at all?"

He tensed. He saw Nebula perk up interestedly in the corner.

"Do I not care?" he choked out. Was the air thin or was it just him? Why did he feel like crying?

"Yes, people are dead and you're just lying there! _Relaxing!"_

"Who do you think I am, Rogers?"

"What did you call it? Oh yeah, 'genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist'. Isn't that what you are? You're sure acting like one!"

"Do you really only see a tabloid billionaire?"

' _Do you really think I'm heartless?'_

There was a pause before, "Yes, I do."

Nebula snorted and the eyes turned to her.

"What?" Steve asked, almost defensively.

"Do you really not see it?" there was no response and she rolled her eyes derisively, "for a week and a half he's been a shell of a man, but the second he stepped foot on this planet he closed off. He cares more than any man I've seen, he just won't show you," she growled out the words as if they were disgusting. He figured she didn't really admire any of his 'caring', "in fact, I think he wants you to think that he doesn't care."

Tony tensed further. Leave it to Nebula to be both blunt and uncannily accurate.

The entire room stilled and turned to him again, and he closed his eyes as a last defense.

"Tony, what does she mean?"

"She means what she said," he shrugged his shoulders again as if the action could preserve his poorly constructed shields.

"Cut the crap, Stark," Natasha barked.

He tensed, before crumbling like a sand castle under a wave.

"God, can't you tell?" he rose to his feet angrily, the words spilling out of a damn that was years old and miles thick, "I care about you! All of you!"

There was silence as the others processed the information. Their eyes began to dissect him like he was a new scientific discovery. It was almost hurtful that they found the information astonishing. Tony felt small under their gaze, naked and vulnerable. He wanted – no, _needed_ – control of the situation. He needed to explain himself.

"I didn't want to sign the Accords," he began, the topic random and all traces of anger gone from his voice," Hell, I didn't even agree with them."

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Steve asked.

The anger returned, red hot against his skin, "You wouldn't have listened!"

"Yes, we would've."

"Tell me, Cap, did you care to tell me what your dear friend did to my parents before I had to watch it on HD T.V.? Did you think, for one second, that I might have cared about this?" he gestured around the room, "About the Avengers?"

"That's not what this is about, Tony."

"Isn't it?"

"It isn't," Natasha said confidently.

"I know!" he sagged back into the couch, "It's not even close!"

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, gentler than should've been possible considering the circumstances.

"You wouldn't understand."

"We all lost someone," Natasha spoke solemnly from the back of the group, "don't act like you're alone in this."

She was right. The room was filled with people who knew loss and he was acting like he was the only one who knew the pain he was going through; the only one who understood the depths of his anguish. He was acting like a child.

"Is that what's happening? You know that Pepper's still alive, right?" Steve offered.

The name sent a pang of guilt through him. He hadn't known if she was, but the knowledge was a welcome relief. But, he hadn't thought about her. He had been too preoccupied with the death he had seen, the death he had _known_ , that the thought of her dying too was out of the realm of possibilities.

No, this wasn't about her.

This was about a boy.

"No, it's not about Pepper," he choked the words out.

"Than stop moping through your grief. We're all dealing with it and we can't save anyone while wallowing in it," Natasha rationalized.

"You're right. But I made a promise. I was supposed to keep him safe and I failed," he punctuated this with a fist on the table.

"I failed him."

Rhodey met his eyes, knowingly. He had met the kid a few times and knew of his identity. He knew exactly how much Peter meant to him.

"Peter?" he whispered the question softly, and Tony nodded stiffly.

"He's gone," he clenched his fist once more and said, almost pleadingly, "he's not supposed to be gone."

The room was silent for a few moments before Thor spoke up, his booming voice dialed down respectfully.

"Thanos killed my entire people and my brother. I have nothing left to lose. Do not think we don't understand."

"But I was supposed to save him, don't you see?" Tony looked up with tears in his eyes, "I wasn't able to defeat him. I couldn't do anything to stop it, but I was supposed to."

"Tony, it wasn't your fault," Rhodey comforted.

"It wasn't anyone's," Natasha said, "the only person at fault was Thanos himself."

The room grew quiet with a wave of seething anger.

"He felt everything, you know? Everyone else just disappeared, but the kid – _my_ kid –knew it was coming and he felt it. It took so much longer for him to – to _vanish_ because his body tried to heal him while it happened. The superpowers that saved him so many times made him _feel_ his own death. How sick is that?"

"Tony, you don't have to –"

"No, Steve! I do. I need to say it," he wiped at his face to find it damp. How did that happen? He didn't know he still had tears left to cry.

"He was seventeen. God, he was just a kid!" he buried his face in his hands, shaking his head angrily, "he was a genius and he looked up to me, to all of us. He idolized us when really, he was the best of us. He was the one who would change the world for the better. He was better than we could ever be.

"He was poor and orphaned and had just lost his uncle, but he still decided to help others. To be kind. He dumpster dove for computer parts and never accepted charity, _unless_ it could help him help others. And he accepted me, no, he _loved_ me. He didn't care about my faults. I was his _hero_ and I let him die."

He paused and took a deep breath. The promise rang through his head like the laughter of a child far away.

The promise. He had to remember the promise.

"He was like a son to me, and I'm going to get him back if it's the last thing I do. We're going to get everyone back."

He placed his hand on the table in front of him and looked at the others expectantly. They nodded and stepped forward, purpose clear and shoulder's squared.

"Avengers," he started, as their hands met on top of each other, solid and grounding.

"Assemble!"

And if the hollow, suffocating pain of loss didn't leave him until he was holding on to the solid and whole and _alive_ body of his kid, well, nobody said anything.

But this time, everyone knew.


End file.
